Page 37 of The Rebel

Not telling him I’d planned on coming home to surprise him the following week was the biggest regret of my life.

But I can’t tell Daisy that so I settle for a lame, ‘Not being drafted to play in the big league.’

‘Were you that good at playing footy?’

‘No.’

‘Idiot.’ She whacks me again on the chest but this time her palm rests there, directly over my heart. Too close. Way too close. ‘If you could wish for one thing, what would it be?’

Inexplicably, my throat tightens. I’ve never liked the ‘what if’ game. What if my mum had stuck around?

What if my dad hadn’t abandoned me?

What if one of my foster parents had seen past my angry exterior and understood I was inherently good?

What if Pa had found me sooner?

What if I could’ve been the grandson he wanted, to stand by his side and rule his empire and tell him how much he really meant to me?

I hate what ifs. They’re for suckers.

‘I’d wish we could stay in bed all night long.’

She pats my chest. ‘I already intend on making that wish come true.’

‘Good. Then let’s start now…’

Chapter Eighteen

Daisy

I’m exhausted. I feel hung-over when I haven’t had a drop to drink. I blame Hart and his insatiable sexual appetite.

The guy is a sex god.

Even now, at ten past nine after a scant three hours of sleep, I remember the feel of his hands and mouth on me, the rasping of his stubble against my inner thighs, the hardness of him inside me.

I am in no shape for an impromptu meeting with Alf.

He landed on the island an hour ago and texted me to meet him in the conference room at nine. While I dragged myself out of bed leaving a sated Hart sleeping and made it here two minutes early, Alf hasn’t appeared. Typical.

I slick a coral lipstick over my lips, check my calf-length navy shift is respectable, and sit at the conference table. I’ve brought my notepad and laptop because I have no idea what this meeting is about.

I’m used to these senseless meetings where he’ll try to reassert his control when we both know I’m the one doing all the work and keeping his company afloat. It’s one of the major reasons I’m contemplating resigning to start my own business.

If only Alf had give me a well-deserved promotion, I’d be happy. Quitting isn’t high on my priority list but if he leaves me no choice… I hate thinking about walking away from a second commitment in a year.

I flick through the latest campaign update for Hart, loving how it’s all coming together.

Alf blusters into the room at nine-fifteen, no apology for his tardiness. ‘I need to talk to you.’

‘What about? I sent through the latest campaign specs—’

‘I know what you’re up to and I won’t stand for it.’ He jabs a pudgy finger in my direction before collapsing into a nearby seat. ‘It’s unprofessional.’

My heart stalls before I give myself a mental kick. He can’t know I’m contemplating leaving. I’m not dumb enough to sabotage my job even if I am tiring of the lack of recognition. He’s fishing.

Mustering my best acting skills, the ones I use on a daily basis to pretend I actually respect this doofus, I fix a polite smile on my face. ‘I don’t understand what you’re referring to.’

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